The Other Al Ghul
by foodbooksandshit
Summary: Katerina Constantinova al Ghul has been hiding from her father all of her life. In an attempt to evade him, she relocates to Gotham City, where the past will catch up with her.
1. Prologue

**NOTE:** I've made some updates and edits to this story, since I wrote it so long ago. Please enjoy!

* * *

 _December 1990_

 _Somewhere in the French Alps - 01:00 am CET_

* * *

 **Prologue**

They were coming for her. He was coming for her.

The cold alpine wind nipped violently at her exposed face and hands. Her feet were bloodied; her lungs cried out. She knew she would not come out of this unscathed. Hell, she knew she might not come out of this at all. But none of that mattered. In her hands, she held the only thing that really did: the child. So she ran; like a white rabbit being chased by a hungry fox. Fearing for her life; for their lives. This was the only option; the only way to keep her child alive. If she had to live without her mother, then so be it. She would not let her child die at the hands of _him_.

She cursed in her native tongue as she ran. He was close; she could feel it.

Her breathing came in frantic gasps, ragged from both the running and the fear that boiled within her. "Faster Anastasia," she whispered to herself between gasps.

She nearly collapsed when she finally reached her destination.

The rusted double doors of the monastery loomed over her as she willed her body to do her bidding. Small grunts escaped her lips, synchronous with the pounding of her fists against the thick wood of the monastery gates. "Please," she begged, "open up."

Her salvation was the moan of the entryway as it abruptly swung open to reveal a frantic woman draped in black and white cloth. " _Mon Dieu!_ " she exclaimed. "You made it! Come quickly." Dread settled into Anastasia's loins as the kind sister ushered her and her child deep into the shelter.

Lit by candlelight and a lambent fire in the center chamber, the monastery radiated warmth and serenity. It felt like a safe haven; a place none would ever want to leave. It was unfortunate that in their situation, that feeling of safety and reassurance was merely an illusion.

"Sister," she whispered to her companion, "I must go."

"No! He will find you!" The older woman cried, tugging on her coat for more effect.

Anastasia felt her eyes become glassy. "And if I stay, he will find her." Both pairs of eyes looked down at the crying little bundle of cloth with sorrow in their hearts.

The baby was beautiful, even in her wailing state. Her eyes, obscured from the onlookers' view by blurry tears, were a shiny jade green, her skin a warm olive tone. She radiated a purity that all possess in infancy, yet it was one that was magnified by her own characteristic aura. Even now, both women could tell that she would be a beauty when she grew up.

It was too bad that neither of them would be able to witness that.

The sister sighed despondently, darting her gaze to the mother. "Very well, my dear. May God be with you."

As Anastasia slipped her thick coat on, the sister came to a realization that involved the small child she held in her arms.

"You never told me her name."

Anastasia looked the sister in the eyes with a sad smile on her face. "Katerina."

With great desolation, the young mother put her child in the sister's arms and prepared to run for her life.

The room that the woman left became warm in her absence. It was an unexpectedly sad warmth; one that radiated melancholy tinged with hope—that hope being the child. Sister Linnea felt this warmth and basked in it, knowing that the child was the beacon of light in Anastasia's darkness. She tilted her head downward and spoke in a hushed tone.

"God bless you, little Katerina."

* * *

He found her in a remote part of the alps thirteen miles west of the monastery.

Anastasia knew that her capture was inevitable. This was a man who had spent more than a hundred years hunting and killing his foes, and she was surely not the most formidable opponent that he had faced. Still, her child's safety served as her motivation. The farther she could draw him away from the monastery, the better.

She would die with pride. Even she herself was surprised at how far she had gotten before she could sense his presence. She'd fled to roughest terrain she could find, where she knew he would have the most trouble. Still, it would not be enough. No matter how far she fled, he would find her. He made that fact clear when she left.

Her horse could only go so far. Gradually, the rocks became rougher and the edges higher until she knew she had to carry on alone. She'd given in when her body had. She could feel her muscles start to shut down, the lactic acid flooding every limb until her arms and legs became so stiff that she could go no further. Now, she rested on a flat rock, awaiting her pursuer.

 _Awaiting her pursuer._ The thought placed a bitter smile on her face. It was unlike her to give up so quickly.

The mountain cold was bitter and unforgiving. There was little she could do but welcome it, as it numbed her limbs to the point that she could not feel their aching soreness. She was thankful for it—maybe it would make her death less painful.

It was when she heard the crunching of rocks behind her that the fear really settled into her body.

"Ra's." The name burned bitterly on her tongue as she stood and turned to him with the fire of a woman scorned in her eyes.

Her former lover stood five feet in front of her with hands folded behind his back and a familiar confidence in his stature. He looked different from when she last saw him. The lines etched on his face seemed to be deeper, the gray in his hair more profound. A sickening smirk played on his lips—a look she'd once found attractive on him. Now, it just made her want to vomit.

"Hello, Anastasia." There was an unpleasant, sickening way he said the words that made fear blossom in her stomach. "You took something that belongs to me."

"I was protecting her!" she exclaimed bitterly. "I saved her life!"

He raised his eyebrows. "So it is a female."

Anastasia's answer was a pregnant silence. She drew her eyes to the snowy ground, unable to look at him.

"I don't want to kill her."

His sentence made her head snap up in surprise. Was he saying what she thought he was saying?

"I want to train her."

She gasped. "To...to be like you?"

His answer was a wicked grin.

"That is a fate much worse than death," she spat bitterly. She knew it was too good to be true.

Suddenly, he surged forward and forcefully wrapped his hands around her neck, choking her. "You should be glad that I am willing to spare her life!"

Small ragged gasps escaped her throat as she clawed at his hands uselessly. "Doesn't...matter...she's...gone."

Ra's smirk widened sickeningly. "I've sent reinforcements to collect her from the monastery." Anastasia's eyes widened. "Perhaps she'll enjoy meeting her sister."

"Stay away from her!" she used her last breath to shout. "Tal—"

The name was cut off by the closing of her airway as Ra's fingers tightened fatally around her neck and lifted her off of the ground. Her face turned a sickening color and her mouth fell open, a strangled scream leaving her. Hands fell at her sides as the energy escaped her body.

Ra's al Ghul dropped the body of his former lover on the ground and dusted off his hands.

"I have to admit that I'm impressed." Few people managed to evade him for as long as she had. He admired that. Leaning down to where she lay, he stroked the back of his hand against her cold cheek. "You should have listened to me, Beloved."

"No one can hide from Ra's al Ghul."

* * *

A baby's cries echoed throughout the monastery as Sister Linnea ran out of her quarters to tend to the wailing child.

"Hush now," she said, putting a finger to her lips while she leaned over the small basket that served as a makeshift crib. Young Katerina had been sleeping soundly in one of the rooms of the monastery before she had been awakened abruptly by an unknown noise. Taking note that her constant shushing was not impeding the child's cries, Sister Linnea proceeded to slip little Katerina into her arms to rock her back to sleep.

To accompany her lulling movements, she began to sing.

 _Sleep my child and peace attend thee,_

 _All through the night_

 _Guardian angels God will send thee,_

 _All through the night_

 _Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,_

 _Hill and dale in slumber sleeping_

 _I my loved ones' watch am keeping,_

 _All through the night_

 _Angels watching, e'er around thee,_

 _All through the night_

 _Midnight slumber close surround thee,_

 _All through the night_

 _Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,_

 _Hill and dale in slumber sleeping_

 _I my loved ones' watch am keeping,_

 _All through the night_

She was about to begin the third verse when a sudden series of loud thwacks against the monastery doors interrupted her lullaby.

She froze. Had they come for the baby?

She acted quickly, whisking the young one away to a dark room deep within the monastery and alerting the other nuns of the possible presence of the League. It was only moments later that she herself stood before the looming double doors, praying to God for protection. She and the other nuns were fully aware that they were defenseless against Ra's sword-wielding foot soldiers. She knew that it would take an act of God to keep Katerina safe.

Still, she swung the doors open.

There stood a single figure draped in black rags that contrasted greatly from the snowy white background. The being was of short, adolescent stature; it was clear that it was a child.

"Please!" The figure cried. "Help me! My parents...I've lost them!"

The young girl couldn't have been more than ten years old. Her altruism getting the best of her, the sister inherently stepped closer to the bawling being. " _Are you alright?_ " she yelled over the raging wind. "You must be freezing! Come inside."

The child eagerly did as she said, stepping into the monastery and out of the violent cold. As soon as the doors were shut, the child removed her hood from her head, basking in the warmth.

"You have been so kind to let me inside. It is a pity that your altruism will only earn you this."

Sneering, the child drew a sword from within her rags and pointed it at the frightened sister's neck. "Tell me where the baby is and I'll spare you."

Ragged breaths escaped the sister's throat as she shook in her clothing. She had expected twenty sword-wielding foot soldiers or an army of ruthless killers. But this was a child—a little girl who couldn't have been older than ten. There was something about this situation that made it even scarier than the former. Men are corrupt—time has done that to them. Their experiences have shaped them, molded them into who they are today. But a child? A child is supposed to be pure and innocent, untainted by the sins of mankind.

This one, however, was the opposite.

She held a coldness in her eyes that would make most men cower in fear. There was a calculation in her every movement that brandished an advanced wisdom that was beyond her years. She was a decided killer.

 _Forgive me, Anastasia. Forgive me, God._

"She's in the cellarage," she whispered, defeated. She watched in horror as the child's sneer became a sickeningly sweet smile.

"Thank you," was the child's reply. "Your death will be painless."

"Heavenly Father, have mercy on my—"

The rest of the sister's plea was interrupted by the sound of a slashing sword and the thud of her body hitting the ground.

* * *

The girl crouched close to the ground and snatched away the sister's veil, careful not to get any blood on her fingers. The thin line of blood on her sword was wiped away by the piece of translucent cloth, and the blade itself was slipped back into its sheath without trouble. There was something in her movements that gave light to a routine and practiced methodology. In simpler words: this was not the first time she had done something like this before. Most would be horrified, shocked, or appalled at her actions. But to her, it was simply another mission to execute; another order from her father to follow. She did not shed a tear or even blink an eye in the wake of her assassination.

The cellarage was not hard to find. It was a small storage room in the depths of the monastery that the nuns living there had evidently thought would be enough to hide a babe. They had been half right. She had not at first seen the child once she entered the room. It was dark, cold, and musty, and things were hard to see in the complete lack of light. She could not be bothered to take a candle down there.

Luckily, the girl was especially good with the dark.

The screech of bats filled the room as she entered, silent as night. She stalked deeper and deeper into the cellarage, seemingly unaffected by her decreased ability to see. Instead, what served as her sight were her ears, fine-tuned as a cat's.

She squeezed her eyes shut and relied on her only helpful sense. And if she listened hard, she could hear it: the soft, chiming cries of a little babe echoing from the left corner of the room.

"Well, well, well," she taunted. "What do we have here?" Dropping her hood, she removed the cloth that obscured the baby from sight and carefully slipped her into her arms.

"Hello, baby sister," she cooed in a sickening tone of voice as she made her way out of the monastery. "Ready to meet our father?"

* * *

Author's Notes:

To anyone who is actually reading this, hi! This is my second attempt at writing a story. I haven't figured everything out yet or edited much of anything, so go easy on me, alright? Reviews are ALWAYS welcome and I am very very grateful to anyone who leaves one.


	2. Chapter One

_**December 1990**_

 _Somewhere in French Alps - 3:00 am DST_

* * *

 **The House of Shadows**

The cold was angry tonight; it stalked through the mountain like a specter and struck at passersby with icy fangs. Snowflakes the size of quarters flew everywhere in an aggressive tempest, covering the mountain in a layer of dangerously slick ice. Nothing was safe from the wrath of the cold. Especially not Talia al Ghul, whose silhouette was indistinguishable from the snowy mountain terrain.

By her calculations, she was exactly two miles away from her father's Interlaken compound. The distance wasn't much; she'd traversed these mountains countless times. But tonight was different.

Tonight, she held a baby in her arms. And not just any baby: her half-sister.

The thought placed an acrimonious scowl on Talia's face. It did more than that—it ignited ten years worth of pent-up rancor and rage from her father's dismissal of her as a potential heir. Because no matter how hard she fought, how many people she killed, or how loyal she was to her father, she would never be good enough. Ra's al Ghul had chosen an infant over her, certainly with the hope that it would be everything that she wasn't.

Suddenly, a thought arose as a product of all of the deep-seated bitterness she had buried in her core. It was simple, really. If the baby was gone, by some _terribly unfortunate_ circumstance, her father would have no choice but to give her what she had so laboriously worked for—what she was _destined_ for. It didn't matter to Talia that her father had already implicitly rejected her as a successor; she had yet to prove herself, and she _would_.

She saw her father's vision with a clarity and understanding beyond her years. _A pure world._ Humanity, she'd learned, was past the point of salvation. It needed to be cleansed.

Soon enough, the castle-like towers of the compound loomed above her, and any thoughts of sabotaging the baby were quickly quashed. Talia grimaced at the sight of the place. She'd never liked it; the slight Gothic style and dark color scheme gave it a desolate feel that sent chills down her spine every time she caught sight.

Two guards affronted the thick double-doors that barricaded the entrance of the compound. Black robes and cloth obscured every body part besides the eyes. " _The girl is her_ e," one whispered to the other in silky Arabic." _Tell the others."_

Double doors swung open, the sound echoing into the dimly-lit passageway that lay ahead. Her father's footmen kneeled before her in honor, a gesture that Ra's himself had made abundantly clear was necessary in the presence of one of his own blood.

" _Rise,"_ she spoke breathily. " _See to it that the proper arrangements are made for our new_ guest _."_ The men readily complied.

The damp, dark passageways of the compound reminded Talia of a tomb as she began making her way to her father's quarters. She arrived at looming double doors. _Had she made it on time?_ Ra's al Ghul was a precise man, she had learned. Everything had to be done with accuracy and exactitude. There were no "almosts" in his world, no room for trivial errors. One slight mistake could cost you your life.

She took a sharp breath before knocking.

Booming footsteps were heard through the walls before the doors swung open, revealing a man standing in the middle of an almost-empty sitting room. Talia removed her parka and curtsied.

"My daughter," spoke the sharp tongue of her father. "I assume that you've brought our asset."

She smirked. "Indeed."


	3. Chapter Two

**NOTE:** It's been such a long time, but I'm glad to be back. Please enjoy.

* * *

 _December 2004_

 _Interlaken Compound_

* * *

 **The Coldest Winter**

There was a piercing, raw feeling about the cold that could be felt from the top of the Cat's Ears. It was an aggressive cold; a far cry from the fluffy winter that most children enjoyed the prospect of. Ten-year-old Katerina Constantinova al Ghul knew this and hated it.

There is an archetypal picture that one paints in their mind when thinking about the winter. The sun is shining despite the cold and a child is frolicking, rolling in the snow like he has never seen it before. Maybe he really hasn't—his enthusiasm towards it is proof enough. For the ordinary child, winter was supposed to bring rosy cheeks, hot chocolate, and snowball fights.

This was not Katerina's winter. Her winter was bitter and numb and cold like a specter. There were no snowmen, only endless icy terrains to climb and falling icicles to deflect. The ground was not littered with fluffy layers of snow; it was brittle and icy and when she fell on it she could not help but wince at the biting cold on her cheek.

Today, she would endure the wrath of that winter. She would scale the full lengths of the twin peaks that obscured her father's Interlaken compound from the human eye and then train amongst its icy terrain. Her sister, for some odd, enigmatic reason, seemed to enjoy the prospect of the climb. But Katerina was _not_ Talia, and even at the fresh age of ten, she knew it well. There was little about the sisters that was similar, apart from their father and the torturous training that they both underwent. Because while Katerina might have done the things that Talia had all the same, she was not the killer that her sister was. And while Katerina still had her humanity intact, Talia most certainly did not. One look into both of the children's eyes would tell you everything.

Ra's al Ghul entered his daughter's living quarters when the sun shined directly over the center of his compound. "Put your winter clothing on. We are going to the mountains," he said, his voice booming with authority. "Quickly." The young one replied solemnly with a head nod and a slight bow.

These types of interactions were the only ones exchanged between father and daughter. There were no warm hugs, no kisses, no tucking-in or bedtime stories. In Ra's al Ghul's eyes, his youngest blood was a weapon – and _only_ a weapon. And so that was the way she was treated. They might have had the same blood running through their veins, but she was is no way his daughter, nor he her father.

There was a sense of normalcy about the way that they hiked up the mountains. Maybe it was because she had gotten used to the way the cold bit her nose, the way the icy terrain felt underneath her wool-covered feet. It was like the constant howling of the wind and the sharpness of the winter cold had instilled a permanence in her mind. The sensory memory would always be there for her to recall, no matter how much she would later want to forget it.

But even if there was a sense of prevalence in their activity, she would always loathe the mountains and the violent winter that came with them.

" _Halt_."

Their footsteps halted at the sound of the command. Looming up above them were the two intimidating twin peaks that they were soon expected to scale.

"This is a test," said Ra's al Ghul. "Whoever shall reach the top first will get supper and a warm tent to stay in for the night. The other will stay out in the cold until we make the return-trip home tomorrow morning."

The two sisters turned their heads to look at each other, raging infernos burning in both of their eyes.

Katerina felt no hatred towards her sister, although her eyes did burn with ambition and want for the warm bed that would provide such a contrast from the biting cold that she felt now. But Katerina knew that Talia would not give up without a fight—she was older and harder than her younger sister.

They took their positions at the foot of the ice, bodies at the ready and fates at the mercy of the cold.

 _"Climb!"_ He shouted in sharp Arabian.

Katerina had planned her first move carefully. To her left, there was a thick, solid layer of rock that at first glance would have seemed the prime choice for scaling. But as she had observed, there were little to no good footholds higher up that route, so she knew in an instant that her best choice lay to her right.

"Slow and steady," she whispered to herself as her fingers searched for a hold. Talia was fast, which was in itself a strength and a weakness. If Katerina was lucky, her sister would overlook the strength of a crevice due to her speed and take a rough tumble.

Each move of hers was calculated and deliberate. Talia was slightly ahead at the moment, but Katerina had a plan. There was a small plateau approximately eight feet above her, and from what she could see, the terrain above it was slightly less rough than what she was enduring at the moment. If she timed her movements correctly, she could reach the ledge in due time and move as fast as she could from there. She knew indefinitely that if she attempted to bust it from where she was, she would ultimately be slowed down anyway by the rough terrain.

Until then, she let herself concentrate. _Don't look down._ Every hold, every movement had to be precise. One slip and she was dead. She breathed slowly. _In and out. In and out._ Inch by inch, she climbed higher with her older sister on her tail. She could feel the lactic acid building up in her muscles as the exhausting climb began to take its toll on her.

She slipped both of her hands into a crevice and held on, lifting her left foot to push herself upward. She looked down at her sister, who was two feet under her. Talia's hand reached up to search for a good hold, landing right behind Katerina's left foot.

 _This was her chance_ , she thought. _End it. Warm food, warm bed._

She lifted her foot.

* * *

Author's Notes:

I know it's been a while but thank you for reading. Reviews are greatly appreciated.


	4. Chapter Three

**NOTE:** I promise this is the LAST time I switch up this story. I've been wanting to wrap up this "past" storyline before I get to the main, present events. The basis of the narrative is still the same though. Enjoy.

* * *

 **III: The Red Door**

 _June, 2006_

She'd had her suspicions for as long as she could remember.

Like a heavy fog being lifted, her father's true character had been revealed to her. Her blindness wasn't her fault entirely, though. Ra's had been charming and kind and everything you would have expected a father to be. And all daughters do have a natural inclination towards their fathers – even fathers like Ra's al Ghul. In fact, she had some memories – vague ones. They were by no means happy recollections – in her world there were no such things – but they were nonetheless memories that she could never bring herself to forget.

If only she had known that it had all been a ploy to gain her trust.

At a young age she was taught the first and most basic lesson of the ninja: meditation. This to her came naturally, as it was easy for her to lose herself in the almost absolute silence that her father's compound provided when training sessions were not in place. But there was more to meditation than sitting in stillness. It was used to develop the mind; make it sharper and more aware. And for her, it was working.

Soon, she began to notice things about the silence. It began to seem wrong and unsettling; like it was some kind of thick veil hiding something from her. A pestering, nagging feeling soon blossomed in her gut and it became harder and harder to condone as she herself grew wiser with age. Yet her acquired self-control and mindfulness allowed her to fight against her instincts – but only for so long. And then it happened.

She'd been meditating in the garden when he came looking for her one night. Her acute senses had picked up on his presence almost immediately, yet she still found herself startled when she opened her eyes and felt his gaze on her face.

Ra's al Ghul chuckled at her slight gasp. "Did I startle you, dear Katerina?"

She forced herself to recover from her surprise and smiled back at him. "Not at all, father. What is it? More lessons?"

"No, nothing like that. I just came to tell you that supper is ready, my dear."

"Oh." She forced her body expression not to change as she silently celebrated in her head. "May I ask what Urambu has made?"

"Roasted duck, I believe." He offered her an arm and she took it eagerly, her appetite stirred by the six hours of training she'd undergone earlier.

They were halfway across the courtyard when something caught her eye.

A flash of red behind the wall closest to them. A silver sword slicing through the air. And then she was moving – spinning and kicking hard until she'd knocked the figure to the ground. Unbelievably fast, her father's men were on the intruder, relieving him of his weapon and bringing him before the intended victim.

Katerina had never seen her father this way before. She watched in unprecedented silence as he ordered his men to take the intruder away. His customary warmth was gone, replaced with a burning hatred that was expressed in every limb of his body.

But this man had tried to kill her father, hadn't he? He deserved it.

So why was her heart hammering so erratically against her chest?

Katerina did her very best to compose herself as her father offered his arm again. She took it, of course, and they continued their promenade to the dining area unperturbed.

But as soon as she sat down, her appetite vanished from her core. The roasted duck that would have normally made her salivate suddenly wasn't as appealing anymore, and she soon found herself pushing her food around with a fork.

Ra's al Ghul instantly took note of his daughter's behavior and did not hesitate to question it. "What is wrong, my dear? You usually attack your food as if you have not eaten in days." He paused, setting his fork down and folding his hands in front of his plate. "Is this about what happened in the courtyard?"

Katerina pushed air out of her nose and crossed her arms in an attempt to control her emotions. "No, father."

Ra's al Ghul suddenly slammed a fist onto the wood table, the impact causing the fragile chinaware to clink and clatter. " _You dare lie_!"

Katerina flinched, frightened by her father's sudden outburst. She answered in a small voice, her eyes cast downward. "Why were you so mean to that man?"

Ra's al Ghul sighed loudly and grasped his daughter's chin, forcing her eyes to his. "Some men do not understand nor appreciate the work we are trying to do here, Katerina. They know we are changing the world, and they fear that change."

All she could do was nod in response, her eyes still locked onto his. It would never be enough. Her insatiable need for the truth was left unquenched as always. _Did she even know him?_

Later that night, lying in bed, she prayed to God that sleep would come. And it did—but not in the way she wanted it to.

 _She was drowning. The water was swallowing her; enveloping her body in a blanket of black, suffocating darkness. But she wasn't struggling. No—it was almost peaceful. Her lungs burned, of course, but the pain was more of a far away feeling—as if it was someone else's and not her own. All she could see apart from the black dark was her hair floating around her and the golden skin of her hands and feet. For a while, she was floating in nothingness—in stasis._

 _And then she felt it. A hand on her ankle. Someone dragging her down, deeper into the ocean of her own fears._

 _Her peaceful state was interrupted as her eyes snapped open and she began fighting to get to the surface. But no matter how hard she shook or how insistently she clawed at the hand, nothing would go away. Long yellow nails dug deep red crests into the skin of her leg, refusing to release her._

 _She looked deeper into the darkness, seeking out the face of the monster that was trying to kill her. A pair of green eyes not unlike her own shone through the water like flashlights in the dark. They reminded her of a Cheshire Cat: accompanied by a sickening, slimy grin._

 _She tried to scream—a mistake that caused water to flood her burning lungs. This was no monster. This was a man. A man she knew all too well._

 _Fear crept into her stomach and buried itself there as he spoke in that silky voice of his that she had come to know so well. "Take my hand, my daughter, and we can change the face of this world. Together, you and I, we will make this world better."_

" _No!" Suddenly she could speak, her voice unexpectedly clear even in the depths of an ocean. "NO!"_

 _But he continued to pull her down, his actions unperturbed by her plea. And soon her thrashing began to wane until she was hardly moving a finger, all the while being dragged deeper and deeper into the dark water._

She suddenly woke with wide eyes and a loud gasp.

It had only been a nightmare—a figment of her imagination. But the burning of her lungs and the lingering fear had felt so unutterably and incomparably real.

Suddenly the white bed sheet that was wrapped around her felt like a vice; she thrashed and thrashed until her limbs were free. There was no possibility of going back to sleep; she knew that. And so she roused from her bed and slipped quietly into the hallway.

Her breathing was still escalated as she paced back and forth, trying to relieve herself of the fear that still lingered in her core. It was a nightmare—and her father was the villain; he was the demon that plagued her conscience. How could this be? Her father was a good man—kind to her in every way that a father should be to his kin. But deep down, she knew that behind his charming smiles and kind eyes, her father hid something dark.

She saw glimpses of it at times; when he lost his temper there was often something in his eyes that offset the kind lines of his face. Sometimes she felt as though she was staring into the eyes of a tiger—

A blood-curdling scream suddenly cut off all thought. The noise echoed across the walls of the compound.

The night was still; no one had moved. Her father's foot soldiers had not come marching. This was his doing.

Katerina gasped. _The man in the courtyard_.

Dread weighed her chest down as she ran, afraid of what she might find. She remembered what her father had said about the red door near his living quarters: "You are never to come near here, child. _Do you understand?_ "

And despite everything that her father had told her, despite his loyalty and charm, Katerina could no longer bring herself to turn a blind eye to this.

She opened the door.

* * *

Author's Notes:

I'm still trying to figure out the way that I want this story to go. I have quite a few chapters written down, but I am still trying to find the order in which I want them in. It's difficult because of the time jump between two distinct periods of Katerina's life. Oh well. I'll figure it out.

Thanks for reading! Reviews are greatly appreciated!


	5. Chapter Four

**NOTE** : I went back and changed a few things and also edited the chapter, but the overall plot of the chapter stayed the same. It's just...better now lol. Hope you enjoy. Chapter two (three including the prologue) is on its way and will be up soon!

* * *

 **IV: Madhouse**

 _December, 2018_

 _Wayne Manor- 07:00 pm EST_

Tonight, Wayne Manor was a madhouse. The people that bivouacked the mansion for the night were a different kind of insane, though. Because unlike the deranged patients of Arkham Asylum whose heads were filled with a diagnosed lunacy, Gotham's rich and powerful had fallen ill to two pathogens that had developed at the dawn of human civilization, feeding endlessly on industry and greed. Tonight, **money** and **power** smothered the atmosphere of Gotham City. And her people were infected with them.

The driveway before the mansion was clogged with luxury cars. The mansion itself was bursting with celebrities, politicians, and blue bloods – all corrupted by the ubiquitous plague. In the air, there hung a stifling ambiance; one characterized by opulence and luxury. There was also a subtle shimmering patina that hung over the affair; likely a collective glitter of all of the diamonds and gold that adorned the necks of the obscenely rich.

Muffled maudlin laughter and the clink of champagne glasses clashed with the music being played by the ensemble band in the corner of the room. Amongst this noise was a discord of fascinating details that could be gleaned from eavesdropped conversation. Businessmen joked over excessive taxes and casually made million dollar deals over glasses of champagne, while lawmakers lolled among their entourages, lending ears to meaningful suggestions from any influential. Most entertaining were the celebrities, whose ambition for gossip and lust for fame was palpable in the air as well as heard by the ears of many.

"I hear Wayne's deal with LexCorp could run into the billions. He's a high roller."

"You know he's got a net worth of six-point-nine bil? It's a shame no one's managed to tie the guy down. I wouldn't be surprised if he walked in here with twelve girls on each arm! Lucky bastard..."

There was a sense of irony in the event being a charity ball, as its attendees were all there for reasons that were far from charitable.

Katerina stood on the mezzanine, exquisitely dressed in a red dress with a plunging neckline. She leaned on the banister, casually and rather apathetically watching the crowd below. Tonight, she was going to blend in.

Tonight, she was not Katerina. No, tonight, she was Katherine.

* * *

"Katherine? What are you doing up here all alone?" Katherine Carlisle could not say that she was pleased when she first took notice of the lavishly-dressed feminine figure approaching her. Eileen Oliva was the archetypal rich Gotham missus. Her husband was the balding CEO of a company and at least twenty years older than his wife.

She cleared her throat before replying, blinking away any traces of her careful observation of the power in the room. "Just enjoying the view."

The older woman gave her a vexed look, as if no one in Gotham ever came to an event like this one to just have a look around anymore. She was right, of course.

Eileen murmured something condescending-sounding under her breath and covered it up with a smile. "How is Emile?"

Kat resisted rolling her eyes. The husband had met her surrogate father maybe once or twice on a strictly business-only affair—far from anything interpersonal. Calling him by his first name should have been off the table. But she had to remind herself that she was in Gotham of all places, and the people here were all salivating at the chance to acquire social and financial connections.

She forced a smile. "He's great. Still in Metropolis for business. He'll be back in a few days."

"That's good," Eileen replied, wearing a smile too large on her face. "Have you heard anything from him about the LexCorp deal?"

This time, Kat couldn't resists jab. "I'm not at liberty to discuss my father's businesses affairs with anyone but him. Sorry."

"Well," she said, an irritated tone seeping into her voice, "You best come down stairs. Mr. Wayne is about to make his speech."

Bruce Wayne _._ Kat had heard of the man. This was his mansion and his party, after all. Still, she couldn't say that her information was the most reliable. It was mostly made up of what she had heard on the news or read in Gotham's infamous gossip rags. All of them reached the same conclusion: Bruce Wayne was nothing but Gotham trash—rich, spoiled, and a notorious playboy. Occasionally, Gotham Tonight would run a story showcasing Wayne's more philanthropic side, the latest of which featured his project with the rainforest.

Katherine was silent as she followed Mrs. Oliva down the long spiral staircase that lead to the main floor. Activity in the foyer had slowed to just a few flunkies dashing to and fro, and it appeared as though most attendees actually wanted to hear what Mr. Wayne had to say—although Kat had no doubt that the majority were in attendance solely for the free booze.

She took this time to observe her surroundings while they walked. The mansion itself was obscenely large; the echo of her stilettos clacking against the marble floor was a gesticulation of that.

Muffled chattering and giggles gradually grew louder as she and Mrs. Oliva neared the ballroom. Filled to the brim with Gotham's most wealthy residents, the room itself seemed to speak in hushed tones—a collective whisper of the secrets being spilled from the lips of the rich.

Kat sighed and wandered through the crowd.

She watched disinterestedly as a handsome man unraveled himself from his acquaintances' arms and sashayed towards the middle of the floor. In an instant she knew exactly who he was; it was obvious from the way that he drew attention from everyone in the room. She raised an eyebrow as she observed him quietly. The tabloids hadn't lied when they'd said that he was handsome; the piercing blue eyes and firm jaw had accounted for that.

Even from her position, she could tell that he was built exceptionally well: strong, broad shoulders and a firm chest hidden by a cleanly-pressed dress shirt. But there was something past the charming smile and handsome features that irked her about the man. The blue eyes were cold and painful; they reminded her of a ocean muddled with rain. Bruce Wayne knew pain.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to thank you all for your attendance tonight as we celebrate the 25th anniversary of the Thomas and Martha Wayne Foundation. My parents made it their life goal to give back to Gotham, the city that has given us so much. In order to do so, they established the Wayne Foundation, which aims to help the citizens of our wonderful city lead better lives. Over the years, the Wayne Foundation has changed the lives of many people by providing funding for more stable homes, linking families to resources they need in order to thrive, and helping the young people of Gotham get the education they need. But our work isn't done. Our city continues to undergo tragic events every day. We have lived through dark days, and no doubt there are more to come. But it is the goodwill of the people that holds our city together in the face of such terrible things, and that is what the Thomas and Martha Wayne Foundation represents. Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in a round of applause for 25 years of making Gotham a better place!"

Wayne knew how to charm an audience, that was for sure. Applause boomed throughout the crowd as he stepped away from the spotlight and rejoined his female companions.

 _It's funny_ , she thought, _how unrepresentative these people are of what Bruce Wayne talked about._ Rich, yes, and very much capable of helping financially, but from what she could tell: motivated by all the wrong things.

Kat pushed through the crowd, heading away from the center of the room.

* * *

It had been six minutes since he'd arrived late to his own party. Three minutes since he'd brushed off Svetlana and Natasha or whatever their names were and sent them in search of another man in need of arm candy. It had been exactly one minute and thirty-two seconds since he'd given his speech. Fifty-two seconds since he'd laid eyes on the retreating young woman in the red dress.

But it hadn't been the dress that had caught his attention—although it was striking and expressed a clearly nice figure. No, it had been something else. There was a familiarity about her. The way she moved. Those forest green eyes. He'd seen them before, that was for sure. They reminded him of—

A ping in his left ear stopped his thoughts cold in their tracks.

"Pardon my interruption, Sir, but I believe there may be activity on the east side that requires your attention."

Bruce wasted no time in heeding his butler's advice and began heading towards the cave.

"The night's still young," he murmured to himself as he slipped away from the gala and back into the shadows, the woman in the red dress still on his mind.

* * *

The back of the room consisted mostly of flunkies who were too intoxicated to know what was going on.

At least she wasn't the only sober one. A boy stood 10 feet opposite of her, leaning inconspicuously against the wall. Based on his height and soft facial features, he looked to be about ten to eleven years of age, with dark, neatly-combed hair. Somehow, he reminded her of herself: a quiet observer.

But there was something else about him—something Katerina was sure she had seen before. Curiosity got the best of her, and unable to control herself, she stepped closer to the boy to examine him more thoroughly. She gasped.

His eyes. Green like a forest. She had seen them before; she was sure. While looking in the mirror...

Her hand flew to her mouth in shock as realization flooded her body. It couldn't be...

She had to know. The League...If they were in the city...

"Excuse me, what is your—"

Just then, a booming crash interrupted her inquiry. Her head instinctively snapped in the direction of the noise, synchronous with the way her hand flew to her left leg, where a fully-loaded Walther PPK was strapped to her thigh.

A gaping hole had been created in the west wall of the room, complete with billowing smoke and debris strewn all over. People were scattered, with the faintest-of-heart shrieking and waving their arms in panic. Bruce Wayne was nowhere to be seen.

Katerina forced herself to stay put. This was not her problem; not her fight. Altruism had gotten the best of her once, and it hadn't ended well. She turned her head to look back, jaw clenched in restraint. _Not her problem._

The boy was gone.

* * *

Author's Notes:

Thank you for reading the latest installment of _The Other al Ghul_. I hope you enjoyed it. As always, reviews are welcome and I highly appreciate anyone who takes their time to leave one. Stay tuned for the next update!

Any guesses as to who Bruce is reminded of? And there are two little references to the Batman/Superman World's Finest movie - kudos to you if you can spot them.


	6. Chapter Five

**NOTE:** _I've added another part between what were previously chapters three and four to add clarification to the story. It takes place in the past and it doesn't alter the overall plot, so it isn't 100% necessary to read it. But I would recommend to do so. Anyway, this one takes place where the previous chapter left off, with the wall exploding at the Wayne Gala. Enjoy._

* * *

 **Part V: Deathstroke**

 _October, 2018_

 _Wayne Manor - 7:40 pm EST_

The boy was gone, and so was the rest of the west wall.

Three more roaring booms echoed across the room, leaving a chorus of high-pitched screams in their wake. The majority of Gotham's aristocracy had begun to flee, their champagne glasses shattering on the ballroom floor. Every bone in her body was telling her to follow suit—to leave and never look back. This wasn't her fight.

She had to remind herself that she wasn't a good person. She wasn't, when it came down to fact and reason. She'd stolen, lied, killed. That right there should have been reason enough to leave and let someone else handle the situation.

So why was she still here, with her hand inching closer and closer to the gun strapped to her leg?

She didn't know how she did it, but in the midst of chaos and destruction, she weighed out her options. Leaving meant keeping herself out of trouble, and these days self-preservation was most definitely her main priority. Leaving was the smart decision—the safe one. Staying there would draw attention to herself. God knew that was last thing she wanted.

Clenching her jaw, she turned in the direction of the door.

* * *

In the dark of the night, Gotham's crime peaks. It's something like a witching hour. The crooks come creeping out of their holes-in-the-wall and Gotham's worst come out to play. Tonight was no exception.

Batman could hear police sirens in every sector of the city. It seemed like a quiet night—as quiet as nights get in Gotham. Petty thieves, mobsters, drug dealers. He would let the GCPD have their fun.

It was something he'd learned over the years. In the beginning, he'd been so young, so naive about the whole thing that it made him cringe now to think about it. Now, he knew better. _You can't save everyone_. It was the painful truth. But the city was poisoned, imploding from the inside out, filled with criminal activity. He had to take care of the ones with the bigger costs.

So he learned to let the Gotham Police Department have their fun with small cases. The sirens had long since become a normal cacophony during his routine nights in the city.

The location that Alfred had sent him was on the other side of town. Alfred had cited a well-known jewel thief that had broken into the Jade Museum near the city border. He was less than a mile away when Alfred's name appeared on the monitor of the Batmobile.

"Master Bruce?" There was a slight shake in his voice that made the vigilante frown.

"Alfred, are you alright?"

The fact that he did not answer immediately did nothing for Batman's concern.

"Er...yes, Master Bruce, _I_ am fine. I am inside the Cave. It is the others that I am worried about."

"Others?"

He heard Alfred gulp over the comm. "Your guests, sir."

The engine roared and revved as he made a sharp turn to go back in the direction he came. "What is the situation?"

"The grand ballroom no longer has a west wall, and I believe that there is a man with an orange and black mask entering."

The vigilante scowled. "Deathstroke."

"It would appear so."

"The others?"

"Master Dick is out of reach and Master Damian is...already here."

"Tell him not to do anything stupid."

"I believe it's a bit too late for that, Sir."

* * *

Age aside, Damian Wayne was not one to think before he acted.

As soon as he'd seen the first sign of trouble, he'd ran straight to the Cave and changed into his assassin's wear, blocking out Alfred's incessant pleas to get him to stay within the confines of the Cave, "where it was safe." He hated wearing such simple clothing with the knowledge that there was a suit with the most up-to-date technology waiting for him, locked up in a display case. It wasn't that he couldn't get to it—he _had_ hacked into NORAD at the age of six. But the first time he'd asked to wear it, his father had responded sternly. _You have to earn that suit_ , he'd said.

How had he not done so already? He was far beyond Grayson's simplistic training. He was the grandson of Ra's al Ghul, for God's sake. Did that not count for anything?

He shook his head. He didn't need some stupid suit. He would show his father that he was _more_ than worthy of it.

The sound of his sharp blade echoed through the air as he unsheathed his katana and made his way back to the ballroom. Stealth was no longer a necessity, as the party guests already were much too preoccupied with fleeing the scene.

His eyes turned to slivers of bitterness as he recognized the man in the familiar orange and black mask. _Deathstroke_. The blood in his veins boiled with anger, the memories of his grandfather's killer resurfaced, the adrenaline shot through his body. With a vengeful yell, he charged.

Deathstroke's back was turned as Damian leapt into the air and brought his sword down on his opponent's head. On any other occasion, the blow would have landed fatally. But this man was no ordinary soldier. His honed reflexes kicked into gear just as the blade was about to reach him and he retaliated without hesitance.

"Boy," he seethed in recognition, his own blade now blocking Damian's.

They untangled their swords and circled each other with hateful eyes, daring the other to make the first move.

"You have some nerve showing up here, in _my_ house."

Slade laughed cruelly. "This is not your house, _Boy_." At that remark, Damian lunged. Slade had anticipated the move and parried, the clash of their twin katana blades echoing across the now-empty ballroom.

"If you're here to wreak havoc on Gotham then you will find yourself utterly unsuccessful," Damian fumed, a grunt escaping him as he ducked to avoid decapitation.

"You mistake yourself," Slade countered. "Such petty things are below me."

Damian attacked, his sword landing a blow on Slade's arm, drawing first blood. A groan of pain escaped Slade's lips and the boy took this moment of weakness as an opportunity. He grunted and swung, hitting his opponent's head with the hilt of his katana.

Using all of his strength, he shoved a weakened Slade onto the ground and held his sharp blade centimeters away from his neck. "I'll ask one more time. _Why are you here?_ "

Deathstroke used his free hand to remove his damaged mask. He smiled sickeningly, a trail of blood escaping the corner of his mouth. " _To kill the Batman._ "

Damian's eyes widened for half of a second before he inched the blade closer to Slade's neck. "He's not here. You failed."

The chilling smile on Slade's face widened. "Did I?" Suddenly, a sharp pain registered in Damian's left leg. He'd been so distracted by the threat upon his father's life that he'd failed to notice Slade's free hand inching towards his sword. And now he had a deep diagonal cut across his left leg.

He stumbled backward, the stinging of the wound making his eyes water. Slade was now on his feet. Damian cursed to himself. He should have known that this formidable of an opponent wouldn't go down so easily.

Deathstroke grinned, the tip of his katana blade just shy of Damian's exposed throat. "Your father may be elsewhere, but I assure you—your death will be just as satisfying."

Maybe he should have listened to Alfred. Nonetheless, Damian Wayne was no stranger to the eminent threat of death. He narrowed his eyes. _Do it, I dare you._

To his surprise, Deathstroke withdrew his sword. Damian tilted his head in confusion. _What—_

And then he saw Slade grab at his profusely-bleeding neck. A fatal wound to his carotid artery. He'd been...shot?

The Batman didn't use guns. Damian looked around for his savior.

The ballroom was empty.

* * *

Author's Notes:

It's been a few months, but here it is. Just in case my writing is too convoluted to follow, here's the gist of what happened: _Kat "flees" the scene, Bruce is called to the other side of the city to catch a jewel thief (hmm, wonder who that might be), Damian disobeys Alfred and takes on Deathstroke—who says that he is in Gotham to kill the Batman—by himself, and before Deathstroke can kill Damian, someone shoots him (?)._

Damian is one intense 12-year-old.

Hope you enjoyed. The next one will be up soon (hopefully). Oh, and leave a review, if you'd like. They help speed up the process ;)


End file.
